An Affair to Remember
by the.goal.is.greatness
Summary: … and I know I ought to leave the young thing alone... [Kirk x Chekov] [drabble]


**Title:** An Affair to Remember  
**Genre:** Romance / Humor / Drama / Angst  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Kirk x Chekov  
**Spoilers:** N/A  
**Summary:** … and I know I ought to leave this young thing alone…  
**Word Count:** 928  
**Warnings:** N/A

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Summary is from Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.

**A/N:** I don't know. I thought about this idea years ago and now it just makes me sad, but I'm writing it anyway.

* * *

He couldn't remember why he had let this continue on so long and why he didn't stop it.

He did remember when it had started though. That first moment he heard the word 'seventeen' spill from that sinful mouth, as tempting as any serpent, and made Jim Kirk sit up and notice. It became a mantra for him, a creed, and hymn that he sang to himself.

Seventeen, seventeen, seventeen.

But weeks of this, months, and suddenly to invocation changed. Eighteen, eighteen, eighteen? Then it is deep space and long, long months in between star bases and if he didn't have a Captain's log he thinks he might forget the Star Date.

Nineteen – nineteen!

His reputation is a legend aboard his ship: Jim Kirk, the Captain who can sleep with any woman he wants. The Captain who has had more women on more planets than most people can fathom. But they are nameless, faceless, void-filling trophies. They ignore him when he mumbles into their shoulders, _Too young, I'm sorry, you're too young_. They forget, but he doesn't.

His internal chant is two weeks away from becoming: Twenty, twenty. And he is in the turbo lift, and this young little thing is there, pressing the emergency stop button, and looking at him, eyes askance and hesitant and innocent. "Keptin?" The accent paired with those big eyes looking up at him is enough to make Jim let out a gargled groan that somehow passes as encouragement. "Vould you – vould you help me with something?" Jim sends a brief glance skyward, wondering why he was being punished, before agreeing. "Vould you teach me about sex?"

His knees give out.

"Keptin!"

He's vaguely aware of Chekov calling him and shaking his shoulder, but Jim is sure that he is dead – or in a coma – or hallucinating, because there is no way Chekov asked when Jim thinks he just asked. No, no, no, no –

"I thought you vould be the best person."

But oh, yes. And oh, no. Because Jim knows himself better than anyone. He knows that he is honorable and good, when given the opportunity. But he also knows that when temptation is batting it's little eyes in front of his face that Jim Kirk is really, really given to sin.

There is a gasp in the tiny lift, but he doesn't know from who, when he surges up in a flow of motion, two swift steps and then Chekov is pinned to the wall, and their mouths are pressed together. It is harsh and demanding, an outpouring of _years_ of pent up lust.

Then it is weeks of every dark, hidden fantasy Jim Kirk had ever had since he heard the word 'seventeen.' It is teaching this kid – adult, he's twenty now, Jesus – to kiss, to give and get a blow job, to fuck. And holy stars is Jim Kirk is some level of heaven/hell for having this genius mind be focused entirely on him? Because that much intelligence should not be focused on something so dirty. This kid ten years younger than him should not be blowing his mind with things he does with his tongue and nimble fingers. And with every twist of wrist, with every curl of tongue, Jim is falling deeper and deeper into this web of lust that he should have been adult enough to prevent in the first place.

Fuck, what will Bones say if he finds out? Tell him to keep his perverted daddy complex out of the pants of the Bridge crew, probably. He thinks of Spock writing up a ten page dissertation to Starfleet about Jim's insubordination and requesting that his captaincy be revoked. He thinks bout Pike and Uhura with their disapproving, parental gazes. He thinks about his career going up in smoke –

\- and sinks himself deeper into his Lieutenant.

_Fuck, fuck!_ He should stop, he knows he should. This isn't love, it isn't even affection, not really. For Chekov it's that he wants someone more worldly to teach him what to do (theoretically so he can go out and nab someone in particular with the skills and Jim has his bet on it being Sulu, but whatever). For Jim it's just that he really, really can't say no to something offered up on a silver platter, especially when it comes in such a beguiling package.

"_Keptin_…"

And there's that – there's no one else out here in space with that lilting little accent that can send him from six to midnight with a single word. How he gets through Bridge shifts now is anyone's guess really (the answer is: mostly with a boner).

He'll give himself a year – that's plenty of time to teach Chekov everything he knows, right? He'll give himself one year, to get this out of his system. Happy twenty-first birthday, Lieutenant, I'm done fucking you. Yee-haw. And that will have to be the end of it, or Jim has the feeling this will turn into something a lot more heart-wrenching and soul-stealing, and those are two things that James T. Kirk just Does. Not. Do.

So he'll give himself a year.


End file.
